by Ben Robinson

edited by David Groves originally published in Shakespeare's Email

New York City
October 17, 2001

Love laughs at locksmiths --Houdini

On October 4, I was called to do an indoor street performance by the New York City police department.

Indeed, New York's finest.

Now, don't get the idea that this was a "show" in the sense that there was a stage and any other theatrical trappings. It was actually a breakfast show with lots of eggs eaten. Approximately 240 eggs if you want to get specific about it.With 36 hours notice, I was called by a circus clown who said that the Gramercy Block Association needed a favor. I, of course, said yes.

I worked alongside an old friend of many years and one of her cronies. The mission: purchase, schlep and serve breakfast and perform a magic show simultaneously.

4:30am: Pick up eggs and bacon from diner, and deliver to a lobby. Walk one block to meet the two of the four members of my team to serve breakfast to 200+ hungry officers of the law.

The police escorted us to their command center. I served eggs. Served bacon. Poured OJ. Cut bagels. Cleaned up. Hauled garbage. Basically served the police, FBI, EPA and whatever other agency you want to name . . . and make sure they all got a good, filling breakfast.

"By the way this guy's a magician," our head of command said.

It was all the introduction I required. My ring danced on my fingers. Cops behind desks were too busy to watch. There was work at hand, but maybe the work could have been trying to relax? This wasn't one show in one place . . . this was a Puckish whirlwind of moving, carrying, talking, walking and conjuring. All of Ganesha's arms moving all the time . . . now you get it.

One cop wore an ill-fitting pair of sweat pants and a Grateful Dead T shirt. His "house shoes" would have been rejected by Phyllis Diller.

Turns out, after someone works at Ground Zero, their clothes are trashed, and they put on these interim clothes that are piling up in donations. The workers go through three pairs of rubber boots a day because they melt in the three-week-old fire of molten metal and jet fuel.

The health hazards are everywhere: the fire, molten metal, the lack of breathable air and 3000+ decomposing bodies. And, I'm working for these brave souls . . . people who need mental escape, and don't even realize the benefit. This thought is too far away in The Land of Normal Thinking.

Card tricks, a ring vanish and reappearance, a few quickies with some special cards. And then the grand finale involving one of their weapons.

One man I was serving broke his arm not two hours earlier pulling a corpse from the rubble.

"Two hours ago I could have served myself," he lamented.

"Well, listen," I said, "ya got me here helpin' you. So you're one up. Want some bacon?"

A smile flashed across his lips. Victory. Momentarily, his mind had been distracted from his remorse. Next . . .

Who rescues the rescuer? And then those who catch them when they fall?

It's the domino effect. I'm already out about five grand (insignificant compared to others who have lost their lives) because of this terrorist act, and I'm in the popular-culture game . . . it affects everybody.

Depression doesn't discriminate. You see it in their tired eyes. Being a cop is hard enough in this town. Dealing with the aftermath of September 11th is as close as any of us are going to get to Hell anytime soon.

I also ran eggs, potatoes and bacon from The Lyric diner one block away from where breakfast was being consumed. I did a lot of magic in there with cigarettes, cards and salt.

In return, the Lyric cooked 120 free scrambled eggs for our men and women in blue. But if the officers wanted bacon and sausage, they had to pay a premium.

If somebody could send part of that $60 billion of relief money to us, it would help. We just bought breakfast for 200+ cops and rescue workers because of this noise.

This was 120 minutes of my career that I will never forget and I am sure some of them won't either.

The general reaction to my magic seemed to be quiet, almost stunned attention, and then, as if pressurized air was being released from a tire, hysterical, uncontrollable, laughter for a few seconds. I was reminded of the restaurant slang, "being slammed," which means having too many people to service in too short an amount of time.

I was also reminded of a similar relief show I did earlier this year. In the Center for Special Studies at New York Presbyterian Hospital, I conjured for AIDS patients on Valentine's Day. The similarity: magic broke through and disintegrated the trauma momentarily.

What are the long-term effects of humor or happiness? Bob Lund leveraged his entire life to build a monument to the magician with his American Museum of Magic in Marshall, MI. Why? Bob told me he was very ill as a boy, and that a conjurer (whose name he never learned) helped to heal him.

I got a few real big laughs out of the officers, especially when an officer's card changed after I rubbed it on a bald officer's head. There was a smattering of applause. A lot of smiles.

One cop asked if I could do the 3-card monte.

"Hey, ya do that and I'll have to bring ya in," the cop joked, then added, "Wait a minute, you're already here!"

The absurdity made even him smile . . . a breeze of clown logic made everyone temporarily relax.

Finally, I was given a small token shield that qualified me as an honorary member of the Coral Gables, FL police force. The officer shook my hand, and then I realized that there are cops from all over the US here. Over 10,000 extra cops. Where do they all sleep?

We took some pictures to remember. But nothing will ever capture my pride as a New Yorker, the adrenalin high of digging deep down, confronting who you really are and using it to continue to combat this evil.